


Rivers Wide and Infinite

by SaturnineArbiter



Series: The Stars Are But A Current [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Artificial Intelligence, Asexual Character, At this point I shouldn't even have to say that people die, Attempted actual science, F/M, Fake Science, Genetic Modification, House of Suns - Fusion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Genocide, M/M, Medical stuff, Mental Illness, Mind Control, Murder, Playing fast and loose with characterization, Psychological Torture, Sharing a Body, Still bcmb and not astrophysics, because they do, cloning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnineArbiter/pseuds/SaturnineArbiter
Summary: And so it goes. Tensions are rising between the Crockers and the Lalondes and fissures are appearing in troll society. Suddenly, it looks like everyone has a stake in whatever game is going on. No matter what the angle, it all seems to come back to Crocker.Secrets are coming undone, plots unraveled, and at the center of it all is a millennia-old war.One which may not be as over as all had thought.





	Rivers Wide and Infinite

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I am so sorry this took so long to get out. I discovered a few plot holes and had a lot of trouble filling them in. The other two chapters will likely also take an abnormally long time to follow.   
> There are, however, a few things to say before I dive into the story. You can skip them if you’d like; none are necessary to your understanding.  
> First is that this was the part of the story I wrote first. Not quite the climax, but close; this was what I had planned from the beginning. There were a lot of hiccups. Parts of this plot got major side-eye at the very start when I mentioned them and I haven’t run them past a lot of people since. I’m not completely sure what the reaction will be, but this was and is my original, truest plan. Judge me if you will.  
> That leads to the second thing: this is in a lot of ways the most disconnected and jerky part of the story, in my opinion, since my writing style has changed over the—wow, four years—that I’ve taken in writing this story. Some parts are brand new, written last minute before publishing; some parts are relatively ancient, three to four years old. I’ve edited, of course, to bring them up to style, but there’s only so much I can do when I’ve already edited to death.  
> Last is this: despite all that, this is the part I’m proudest of. In my opinion, the first two parts were leadup. This to the end is where I really focused my energy and what I'm proudest of.  
> Keep these in mind as you read. Roxy having Dietrich’s memories, the Colamér Massacre, Jake’s suffering; these were the second things to be planned and written, immediately after I designed Eridan and began writing Sollux and Aradia.

Roxy

Roxy jerked awake to meet dark blue eyes perched over a soft, round face with a bright smile. “There you are!”

She sat up and nearly collided with the man’s face. She glanced round repeatedly until she lit on Rose, leaning against the wall and looking startled. “What happened?”

“Your implants failed,” The man informed her. “You’ll have some lasting neuropathy in your extremities. Can’t do much about that, I’m afraid.”

Dirk’s hands landed on her shoulders. “Is it still there?”

“I got rid of it,” the man said indignantly. “Well, Jane dear and I did. You doubt us?” he puffed up indignantly.

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you.” Dirk eyed him over Roxy’s head.

“Which is to say, as far away as your arm will land when I tear it off,” the man replied amicably. “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

Roxy abruptly recognized two things. One was that Dietrich’s memories were most certainly still in her head, and the other was that the man was Grandfather Crocker, and he’d presumably had free access to her implants for however long she’d been unconscious. She put her hands to her head and glared at Grandfather Crocker in what she hoped was an admonishing manner.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, presumably in response to Roxy’s expression. “I went in, I fixed you up, I got out. Nothing untoward.”

 “You better not have done anything,” Roxy threatened, puffing herself up. “I’ll hunt you down if you did.”

He rolled his eyes. “Such violence.”

“You’ve threatened to kill me twice since I entered this room,” Dirk said flatly. “You’re not fooling anyone, old man.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Jane assured her. “I was watching your brain activity the whole time.”

Looking at them bicker, Roxy remembered Dietrich’s intense dislike of Grandfather Crocker. Maybe it was some of the similarities between him and Harley. Which was a revelation in and of itself.

“Grandfather Crocker.” She interrupted before he could finish his threat to Dirk. “What do you remember of Dietrich Lalonde?”

“Call me Jonathan, love.” Grandfather Crocker made a face. “I remember a lot of things about him. Few of them pleasant.”

“I know you didn’t like him,” Roxy said patiently. “But do you remember if he knew Jacob Harley?”

Grandfather Crocker yanked his goggles down to hang around his neck and turned them off, tugging his gloves back on. “Now, where did you hear about that?”

“I think the Reunion gave it to me.”

Grandfather Crocker frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s a genuine surprise. That’s likely how and why it delivered you that… foreign program. You say you were drunk?”

“Yes.” Roxy winced at Jane’s sudden glare. “Just a little!”

“You’re Rue’s clone. With very little alteration?”

“None,” Dirk answered. Grandfather Crocker screwed his mouth into a disappointed moue and slapped his hand over Dirk’s face to muffle him.

“You’re too much like that Dietrich for your own good. Rue was near always drunk at the end of his lifetime, but I don’t think she’s been that way since—either drunk or at the reunion.” Grandfather Crocker sat down on the table next to Roxy, releasing Dirk. “Have you ever gone to the reunions drunk before?”

“Never. It was a long trip.”

Grandfather Crocker laced and unlaced his fingers. “That’s dicey. Alongside the memories you gained, that program… it looks like Dietrich’s work. But that can’t be. Why would he lay a trap for Rue?”

Dirk’s brow creased, but Roxy could almost see him considering and then disregarding the comment.

“A trap,” Roxy murmured. “If so, why…” she frowned. “Why just his memories of Jacob Harley? Why do you know about it? Why does no one else?”

He held up a hand. “Roxy.”

She waited.

“Actually, all of you.” Grandfather Crocker let out a long breath. “I’m sorry. Crocker isn’t particularly proud of this now. But in all fairness, we were paranoid bastards.”

“What aren’t we proud of?” Jane asked, leaning towards him.

Dirk raised an eyebrow. “You? Regretting knowing Dietrich? After the sheer number of goddamn people you killed? You regret Dietrich?”

Dave shifted to stand in front of Dirk, flushing when Grandfather Crocker shot him a lascivious grin.

“Not that. Jacob Harley. He was my cousin, of a sort.” Grandfather Crocker looked away from Dave, let his chin fall into his hands, clapped together like he was praying. “Joanna’s half-brother. They had the same sire, as far as we know.”

Dirk leaped to his feet, fists slamming down on the table. Dave grunted in shock, wobbling away from him. Rose’s feet hit her seat’s supports, but Roxy was too focused on Grandfather Crocker to pay attention to any of them.

“The goggles. He pretended to be blinded by his cataracts.”

“Easy enough to falsify.” He shrugged. “He was our spymaster. It makes sense that he went entirely incognito.”

“So he went after Dietrich on purpose?” Roxy asked. “Pretended to fall in love with him?”

“No. That whole affair…” Grandfather Crocker groaned. “That was a disaster. Initially, it was a mission. But within a few meetings, he was genuinely smitten. It was disgusting. We’d limited contact to three-hundred character ciphertext messages, and he still managed to be totally infatuated through that.”

“If it helps, Dietrich was sort of the same way,” Roxy offered. “All doki-dokis.”

Grandfather Crocker dropped his head into his hands. “I know. God, I wish I didn’t. The worst part is that Jacob was a genuinely brilliant spy. He recovered more intelligence than any of the rest. The only good thing that came out of that affair was that Dietrich worked with us some. He was privy to secrets that few _Crockers_ knew.”

Roxy meditated on that. Jacob Harley had been glib and predatory from the start, setting off some of Dietrich’s red flags. But, she supposed, just enough. Set off enough warnings to interest and alarm Dietrich, few enough that his guard would be relaxed enough for Jacob Harley to pass muster. Dietrich was the kind of person whose interest was piqued by a sign of danger, fascinated by the predatory aura someone carried.

But suppose it went both ways? Aggressive, young Dietrich, alarming Harley with his perceptivity, keeping Harley on his toes. The Crocker addiction to adrenaline could only encourage Harley. And he and Dietrich together would have been a formidable force, one not prone to—

“Earth Almighty,” she found herself breathing. “That’s how you dodged the Colamér Massacre! So Dietrich’s presence on the ship was purposeful?”

“Oh. That.” Grandfather Crocker made a face. “Absolutely not. We had no idea it was going to happen until afterward. I have no doubt that it still would have happened had we been on Colamér. And Dietrich—Dietrich was just a bystander in the line of fire. Harley didn’t like that, though. We had a scary moment when he cut communications. Bastard went to drag Dietrich off the ship by hook or by crook. We were sure he’d gone rogue until he tuned back in with Dietrich.”

“You _started the fucking massacre,_ ” Dirk hissed, shoving past Dave to finally re-enter the conversation. “Crocker did that? Intentionally?” Dave yelped and tried to drag Dirk back.

“I haven’t filtered through all of what I got from the Reunion yet. It could take me up to a week,” Roxy supplied. “I bet that’s in there.”

“That was your _home planet._ ” Dirk snarled. “And without a thought, you just… _millions of people._ ”

“Would you inform us of what happened?” Grandfather Crocker asked, looking wounded. “We never did learn. And it was spectacular. We’re certain. The ship practically exploded the moment they left and Harley never really explained.”

“I’ll do that. I’m less interested in what happened and more interested in why Harley did what he did.”

“Not my division,” he replied, carefree, but Roxy could hear a hint of worry. “Sorry, if you want to know you should ask Joanna! She just supplied me with the information I needed to wreck shit.”

“Right, melee leader.” Dirk sighed disparagingly, curling into a sneer and pushing Dave back behind him.

“Crazier than a Makara.” Grandfather Crocker purred, snapping his fingers and crossing his ankle over his knee. “Look me up when you find out what happened, darling. Toodles!”

With that, he scrambled impossibly upwards and disappeared into the ceiling.

“Fuck that guy,” Dirk said into the silence.

Dave snorted. “I refuse.”

 

Dietrich

The railings were slippery with rain. Dietrich made a face and wiped his hands on his pants. Rue pushed at his back a little.

“Come on, Bro! We’re going to be late!”

He didn’t want to explain to her that the height combined with the water was making him nervous, or that he could feel his feet slipping on the metal stairs underneath him. Clutching the railing, he slipped down a few careful steps.

“Jeez, move!” Rue pushed his back a little harder. His heel skidded on the edge of the stairs and his heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you, Rue. Pushing me on wet stairs was exactly what was needed to make me go faster.” Dietrich edged down a few steps more.  A portion of his left glasses lens went opaque.

_‘fraidy cat._

Holy shit.

_Shut up, Hal._

_What? You are! I’m just stating the truth, sugar._

_I will throw you over the edge._

_No, you won’t._

_Watch me._

He shook his head and terminated the conversation, making it down to the next platform. Goody. Only four more flights left to go. One more, and it’d start taking him back to the cliffside. He edged out onto the next step.

Except Rue had clearly had enough, and she vaulted over him in a death-defying stunt that had him shriek out loud as she landed on the staircase in front of him. She stuck her tongue out at Dietrich over her shoulder. “You snooze, you lose, Dietrich!”

He waved a hand dismissively at her, completely ignoring that his legs felt like they were made of jelly and that his stomach had turned to water. Holy shit, how could she just do that?

Rue slipped down the next two flights of stairs without any problem, the clanging of her feet on the steps resonating through the entire staircase. Dietrich clenched the rails, teeth gritted, and started down the next flight.

One. He hadn’t fallen. He could see the cliff and the entrance to the Galodi lair. Why did they have to live so damn far up?

Dietrich’s foot skidded on the top stair as he started down. Scratch that, why did they have such rickety transportation? Why did they have to live in the middle of a cliff—

He looked over his shoulder to the waterfall behind him, roaring deafeningly and spraying the staircase with water.

\--why did they have to fucking live in the middle of a cliff _behind a waterfall?_ He would _not_ have volunteered to come here if he’d known about that.

Done with the second flight. He let out a sharp gasp of breath. Next—

A blast of noise startled him as a small, thin ship exploded through the face of the waterfall, arrowing into an aperture beneath the entrance Dietrich was climbing to. A torrent of water sprayed over the platform and shook his hands free from the railing. For a lurching instant, he felt pure vertigo, feet slipping with nothing that he could feel to steady him.

This is it, he thought. This is the end. I’m going to die on an ass-backward posthuman planet because of a goddamned waterfall.

Dietrich fell backward and landed on someone who caught his windmilling arms and pulled him upright.

“Whoa, there!” they said, accompanied by a breathless chuckle. “Watch yourself! Footing’s a mite treacherous up here.”

Dietrich turned and blushed, gritting his teeth against his embarrassment. And maybe also against that he’d enjoyed being saved. No, he hadn’t, not at all. He was the one who did the rescuing. “Old man, shouldn’t you have been flying in on that?”

Jacob Harley laughed a great, resonant bellow of a laugh. “Don’t write me off just yet, Dietrich! I’m still going as strong as I was in my twenties!”

Dietrich huffed and turned to carefully edge down the stairs again. Harley kept his hand on Dietrich’s shoulder, to mixed emotions on Dietrich’s part. He was not going to dislodge it, definitely not, but that Harley had noticed his shakiness was… not cool. He shook his head a little to clear it.

His glasses went opaque again.

_Blushing damsel in distress, are we?_

_No, Hal. I would have been fine._

_Liar._

_If you say so._

Dietrich blinked Hal away. _He would have been fine if Harley hadn’t been there_. He shook his head in frustration. What was he talking about? He’d been certain he was about to die.

Not that Rue and Hal needed to know that.

“Dietrich? Are you all right?” Harley asked, startlingly close. Dietrich jumped a little and squeaked when his shoes slipped on the steps. Harley’s hand tightened on his arm, keeping him upright.

“Yeah. A-Okay.” He shot Harley a one-handed thumbs up, wincing when Harley frowned.

“You really could have asked to ride in on the transport,” he suggested. “You wouldn’t be in nearly as much distress.”

“I’m not in distress,” Dietrich said, trying to edge his voice so it sounded like he was dismissing a completely impossible suggestion and not like he was trying to cover up. His voice cracked. Fuck.

Harley’s hand skated down, more towards his bicep, and the man himself slipped a little closer. “Of course not. Now, I’m assuming we’re going to the same place?”

“It’s a summit.” Dietrich tried to ignore that Harley was clearly trying to _comfort_ him. He didn’t need comforting. “If it’s a summit between Calliope Houseleaders.”

“It is, excellent. May I escort you?”

Dietrich glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have to go change beforehand, you know. So are you. You’re as soaked as I am.”

“But of course!” Harley exclaimed. “Shall I meet you in the hall before the boardroom?”

“Sure,” Dietrich said, with artful disaffect. “Right.”

His foot landed on the concrete of the ground right before the doors. Rue was still there, rocking back and forth on her heels, staring at him with real concern. Shit. So she’d noticed. Not that he’d hidden his sudden fall to death, but he’d been hoping she hadn’t seen how completely helpless he’d been.

“Hey, Bro. You’re going to need to shower before the summit.” Rue pulled him into a hug and looked over his shoulder, presumably to smile at Harley. “Thanks, Mr.—”

“Jacob, my dear.” He gave a warm chuckle that pooled in Dietrich’s stomach and grew butterflies. “It’d be my pleasure if you chose to dispense with honorifics, as your brother has.”

That _liar._ Dietrich so did not call him Jacob.

“’kay, fine! Thanks, Jacob. Are you going to the summit too?” Dietrich was unceremoniously shouldered out of the way for her to grab his hand and shake it. “Which House are you from? Or Sector?”

“I’m just an Old Terra migrant,” Harley said, smiling at her. “Stopping in to represent my own interests. It’d be terrible if another war were to break out.”

“Cool.” Rue shrugged one shoulder at him. “Come on, Bro. Rhea and Dante beat us here. See you later, Jacob.”

“To you as well. I’ll look for you, Dietrich,” he said, affection clear in his voice, before turning to leave.

Unwillingly, Dietrich blushed. Again. Shit. Rue gave him a level look.

“Who was that? How did you get to know an Old Earth Reformist?”

“Uh—Ha—Jacob. I’ve—well, I’ve seen him at a few functions. We’ve gotten to know each other.”

She winked. “Oh, of course. In a Biblical sense?”

Dietrich consciously suppressed a blush this time. “Absolutely not. He’s not buying, and I’m not selling.”

“I didn’t say anything about buying or selling.” Rue grinned. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout the bedroom cha-cha. The horizontal samba. Tango for two—”

“We’re done here,” Dietrich snapped. Fuck being subtle—he really didn’t want to hear any more dance euphemisms. Rue poked at his arm a little. He gave her a shushing motion.

She hushed for as long as it took to pass a small group of Galodi. “But seriously, Dietrich, have you considered it? Has he?”

“I think he might have,” Dietrich replied, pointedly not answering her first question.

“So you’ve definitely thought about it, then.” She tapped her index finger against her lips. “He seemed nice enough.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” He was going to nip this in the bud before Rhea and Dante got a hold of it. “No, you’re not going to do a full background check on some poor soul just because you think he might be a potential love interest.”

“So you’re already in love?” Rue chirped. Dietrich slapped his hands over his face and let out a muffled groan. “Oh, cheer up! Who knows, I might find something and he’ll turn out to be a mass-murdering psychopath!”

He stabbed a finger in her direction. “No, you’re not going to find something. Because you’re not going to go looking! Nada, zip, zilch!”

“I don’t know about that,” she mused. “I think I’ll start with a simple browser search. And then I’ll move to, I don’t know, hacking Old Earth’s census and Calliope’s emigration records…”

“Rue, _no._ ”

Rue looked up and studied him calculatingly. “You like him.”

No point hiding it from her now. She was worse than Rhea like this. “I do.”

“You like him _a lot,_ ” Rue said, gentle now. “Oh, Bro. How come we haven’t met him until now?”

Dietrich turned his head away. He… didn’t have a good answer. “I, uh… never the right time and never in the same place together.”

_“Bro.”_ Dietrich flinched.

“He… I never really. Wanted to? I don’t know why. I know I should have at least talked to you, or something, but.” He thought back to Colamér, to Chayar, to Kari’id, that visit to Telphousion like three years ago and Felmegor and Tarith and Zyzyjie, Cabrioset. He’d had numerous chances to tell them, or at least introduce Harley. “And he wasn’t super interested in meeting you guys.”

Rue stared at him, expression communicating that she was not fooled and knew there was more to it than that. “That’s more than a little suspicious, Dietrich. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“No. He was sort of passive about it, he didn’t care, and I sorta pushed it so that he didn’t try. I guess I sort of liked it. That he wanted to talk to me and not to you guys. Just me.” Dietrich shifted, one arm wrapping around his chest and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I, uh…”

“I think that’s okay.” Rue looked at the ground. “I totally get it.”

“Okay.” Dietrich breathed out gratefully. “Thanks. I’m sorry. He’s a nice guy, though. You’ll like him.”

Rue hummed a little in response, a neutral note. “As long as we’re confessing our deepest secrets with regard to paramours—”

“We’re not.”

“—I’m dating Jonathan Crocker.”

Dietrich gaped at her. “Rue, what the _fuck._ ”

Rue shrugged self-consciously. Dietrich was only half-aware of them shifting from the five-meter high Galodi ceilings to shorter hallways obviously designed for the less modified. “He’s really sweet. You haven’t talked to him enough, I think.”

Uh, _hell no._ “Rue. The dude has it out for me.”

“No, he doesn’t! You’re just always _really hostile_ when he’s around.”

“Uh, duh. I’m pretty sure he wants me dead.” Dietrich met her disbelieving stare with an incredulous one of his own. “I cannot believe you’re dating him. Rue, what the _fuck?_ ”

“So you’ve said,” Rue said stiffly.

“The first time was an expression of shock. This time is a genuine question. About what you were thinking. And if your sanity went the same way his did when you asked him out.”

She avoided his gaze. “He’s… really nice. You don’t know him, Bro. He’s stupidly nice. Ridiculously nice. And he’s always really sweet and… I’ve always liked that sorta thing, you know? And he was there. And he wanted to try, too.”

Dietrich shook his head, running his fingers through his soaked hair and leaving it sticking up at weird angles. “Man, I thought me crushing on a forty-year-old dude was weird, but that takes the cake, Rue.”

“You haven’t even given Jonathan a _chance_ , Dietrich.” Rue snapped. “Try talking to him for once! Rhea likes him, Dante likes him!”

“Did you do one of your background checks on _him?_ ” Dietrich asked. “Seriously? Because he’s been up to _way_ more sketchy stuff than Harley ever could be. I mean, he’s so posthuman only Galodi went farther than he did.”

“He’s an odd duck.” Rue sighed deeply, looking to the ceiling. “Can we stop this? We’re almost to our rooms and I have a boyfriend to call and you have one to dress up for.”

She opened a door and vanished into the room, shutting and locking it behind her. Dietrich was left uncomfortably alone.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he grumbled. “Not that you care. Or that anyone does.”

His room was somewhere down the hall. Past the stench of—

_Goddamned Jonathan Crocker._

That jackass didn’t even have the decency to walk through the halls like the rest of them mere mortals. No, he sort of glided elegantly through, even though he was a foot and a half shorter than Dietrich or Rue, with a wide, benevolent, insincere smile on his face.

Jonathan stopped right in front of him. “Dietrich! Where’s your sister?”

“I don’t know where Rhea is,” Dietrich said, turning around and walking away. He’d find his room somewhere else.

Jonathan laughed lightly. “You know I mean Rue! I promised to meet her here.”

_Joy of joys._ “She got a little soaked coming in. She’s changing.”

He sighed. “I’ll see her at the summit, then. I’m afraid I don’t have time to stay and chat, I was only stopping in to check on Rue.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Are you? Good. I’m certain as well.” If he had eyes, Dietrich was sure they’d look all sparkly and anime-evil. “And Dietrich?”

“What?”

“Take care of yourself.” Jonathan shot him an enigmatic, slightly malicious smile. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.” He gave a half-turn to point behind himself. “Your room’s right there.”

He brushed past Dietrich, despite the fact that the corridor was well wide enough to accommodate the both of them with plenty of space between, and was gone.

What a weirdo. What a creep. And an ass. What a creepy-ass weirdo. Dietrich was so going to tell Dante and Rhea. What had he even meant?

Walking back the way Jonathan had come, he found his room and entered. He’d have to change quickly—Rue hadn’t been kidding, the summit was soon.

And he’d agreed to meet Harley outside of the hall. His stomach flipped.

Yeah, Dietrich wasn’t going to think too closely about that. He stripped his shirts, pants, and underwear off, tossed them into a soggy heap in the corner, and stepped into the adjoining bathroom.

The tiles were cold under his feet, air pricking his skin with goosebumps. He opened the glass door of the shower and slipped in, turning the knobs. The water streamed down. Galodi were ridiculously old-fashioned in some ways despite being ridiculously advanced biotechnologically. It wasn’t all bad, though. The hot water was a great deal nicer than the showers that would drench him and dry him nearly at the same time back on Sadaji.

Water drumming on his skin, Dietrich poured soap into his hair. When he tilted his head back to catch the water, small particles of dirt came free, prompting a grimace. Guh. Rue probably didn’t have to deal with that. Rue didn’t have to deal with a lot of things. Rue hadn’t nearly died of hypothermia up there. Dietrich nearly grumbled at the unfairness of it all. Oh, she’d been just fine. And Harley hadn’t—

Nope, nope, nope, abort. He was not thinking about Harley _in the shower._ Absolutely not. Dietrich was just not going there. He scrubbed his nails into his scalp, trying to forget about it.

But, a small voice in the back of his head seemed to say, Harley hadn’t been cold.

Dietrich’s movements slowed to a stop. Harley had been warm, nearly a furnace, hands burning on Dietrich’s shoulders. Dietrich knew he ran cold; it had prompted a lot of robot jokes when he was younger. Even Harley’s extremities had felt warm, though. And they’d felt warm at other occasions, too. He remembered shaking Harley’s hand. His skin had been rough and calloused, warm and pliant.

Dietrich wondered how warm Harley would feel if he hugged him. Warm as Dante or Rue? Warm as one of his bots functioning at full capacity? His arms crept down to wrap around himself and he ducked his chin to rest against his collarbone. Water trickled in rivulets down his face from his hair, splashing onto his arms on its way to the ground.

Harley was larger than Dietrich, deeper in the chest and broader in the shoulders and at least fifteen centimeters taller. His arms were thick and heavily muscled where Dietrich’s were slender, long and dense. Dietrich was rail-thin; Harley had a discreet layer of softness over his body. How would that feel?

Dietrich shivered and slapped his cheeks, dragging his fingernails down as he took them away. He was not going to go there. Definitely not. Shutting off the water, Dietrich escaped from the shower, pulling a towel down from the rack and scrubbing himself dry as quickly as possible. Stumbling, he closed the bathroom door on his way to his room.

Dietrich pulled a new set of clothing out of his travel bag with definitely more savagery than was needed and dressed almost violently. He brushed his hair with his teeth gritted, eyes squinted against the light and fixed on his image in the mirror. When he was ready, he stuck a communicator in his pocket, replaced his shades, and strode into the hallway.

He had people jumping out of his way with a glower all the way to the summit hall, where he stood impatiently, popped a hip, crossed his arms, and glared at everything. If Harley didn’t show up? No problem. He’d just go talk to Rue. Except she’d be with _Jonathan Crocker._

Dietrich’s mood worsened. His fingernails dug into his arm, bruising the skin, which he’d regret later, but right now he needed some form of stress relief.

“Dietrich!” someone said moments before he was enveloped in a hug.

Oh. Uh, shit. He did not expect to have his fantasies fulfilled minutes after he’d had them. And Harley was. Well. Sort of cuddling him? He brought his arms up around Harley’s back. The guy really was warm, he thought inanely.

And okay, Dietrich might be able to spend a long time thinking and taking apart and analyzing exactly why Harley hugging him made him feel mild euphoria and butterflies, cutting and splicing until it resembled logic, but it was far easier to just. Admit that he had a thing for Harley that he was really fucking happy was mutual. In some way, shape, or form.

“Yo,” Dietrich got out, managing not to sound completely shell-shocked. Ohhhh Light. He could just see Rue over the edge of Harley’s collar. She was grinning at him, leaving him with absolutely no doubt as to whether he would ever live this down. She was probably instructing Hal to take pictures of his paralyzed, shocked facial expression.

“Righty-o.” Harley let go of him with a couple of brisk pats to the head, looking a little reddish. Probably not nearly as fire-engine red as Dietrich was. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable there.”

Dietrich scraped up a lazy, careless grin that no doubt was weak around the edges and undercut by his vicious blush. “Nah, Harley. About time we took our relationship to the next level.”

Um. Uh. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. To imply that. Harley’s cheeks darkened further and his eyes darted around a little. “Are you! Are you ready for the summit? Will you be speaking or will it just be Rhea and Dante?”

Dietrich took the diversion for what it was. “I’m not gonna speak. Too young and all that.”

Which was maybe still not the best thing to say. Harley winced. “You make it sound like I’m robbing the cradle.”

“Sure, Mrs. Robinson.” Dietrich winked, recovering his cool. “You aren’t, don’t worry. I’m twenty-six, physically, but more like seventy chronologically. If anything, _I’m_ dating under my age range.”

Sheepish, Harley scratched the back of his head. “It’s robbing the cradle,” he said. “You’re a good ways less than half my age. Chronologically, I’m somewhere between a hundred and sixty and a hundred and eighty.”

Whoa, holy shit. Dietrich had not expected that. Sure, the guy was a little old-fashioned, but they were _like_ that on Old Earth. He hadn’t thought Harley was just plain… old.

“Yikes. I thought Old Ea—Terra didn’t tend to go for the immortality shtick?”

 “I’m a bit of a rebel,” Harley admitted. “And I was very into exploration and adventure for quite a while. Time passed quickly, I’m afraid.”

“No kidding.” Dietrich patted Harley on the arm, prompting a small jump from the man. “Light, no wonder you’re allowed at all of these places. You’ve probably been to all of them before.”

“Many people around Calliope know me,” Harley demurred. “I was not nearly so suave in my youth. I’m surprised their impressions of me were positive.”

“Why wouldn’t they be? You were perfectly charming when I met you.”

“I was older and more experienced in charming young men.” Harley shot him a million-watt smile. “Good to see that it worked.”

Fuck. Flirting. Abort. Dietrich had meant to definitely _not flirt and give Rue more fuel._

Before he could reply, however, the doors to the summit room opened. A Galodi, nearly three meters tall, stood in the doorway, expression grave.

“The summit will have to be delayed,” they called across the suddenly-silent entrance room. “One of the delegates has died. We’re investigating the matter, but I’m afraid we also cannot allow any of you to leave until we discover how they died and who was involved.”

The silence persisted for a moment longer. The Galodi wavered. “I thank you. Have a pleasant night. We may have to pull some of you aside to ask some questions.”

The doors closed and the room exploded into noise. Dietrich clapped his hands over his ears, nearly deafened, and accepted Harley’s guiding hands to pull him from the room into a side hallway, where the roar of conversation dulled to a muffled fervor.

“Who do you think died?” Harley asked in a very soft voice once Dietrich had recovered enough to let his hands down. “It has to have been someone of considerable name for it to stall the summit. This has been planned for decades.”

That was a frightening consideration. Harley was right. It couldn’t have been just anyone. “It’s probably one of the organizers.” Dietrich closed his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Shit, and someone murdered them.”

Harley’s hands rubbed over Dietrich’s temples, startling him into opening his eyes. Harley was watching him sympathetically. “Migraine?”

“I think.” Dietrich winced at a stab of pain. “Craaap. I’m going to go back to my room.”

“Shall I walk you?” Harley asked softly, voice dipping to a still-lower level. Dietrich thanked the Light he was stuck with this man out in the hall instead of… someone. Kyler, possibly. He was a total brat. “You’re photophobic, and you shouldn’t be wandering the halls insensate.”

“Yeah.” Dietrich leaned a little bit into Harley’s hands. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Harley said, taking one of Dietrich’s hands and moving to drape his other arm over his shoulders. Dietrich let his neck go limp and head fall onto the side of Harley’s chest. Mfg.

Dante was going to have kittens.

 

Kanaya

If one stopped to think, Hellmurder Island was a profoundly sad place. Kanaya slowed her approach, allowing herself to drift into its defense perimeter. It was roughly oblong, with segments rotating in opposite directions around a central axis, matte against the sky around it. For a moment she thought she saw debris hovering about its posterior end, but she blinked and it was gone.

Barely a month’s travel from Colamér—a galactic eyeblink—and built to support over a thousand individuals, Kanaya knew for a fact that over three-quarters of it were empty, nearly abandoned. There were rooms and rooms for children who were no longer there, and for years and years it had housed only five people. The ark was a remnant of a past where Crocker was illustrious and powerful, brokers of treaties and biological titans, before they’d collapsed into ruin.

Now? At most, there were two in the ship. Word from Lalonde held that one of their eldest was catatonic and dying, their two youngest had left for Deadspace on a suicide mission; the last two, the father and the healer, were here, waiting anxiously. And Kanaya was going in to meet them.

“Please state your name and affiliation,” her computer said cheerily, surprising her. “Oh! A Maryam. It’s been so long since one of you came around. How are you doing, dear?”

“Well, Mrs. Crocker.” Kanaya did her best to appear unflappable even though she was likely betrayed by her greening cheeks and wide eyes. It was customary. “I am Kanaya Maryam, and I am here to speak to Father Crocker.”

“Oh, young Paul!” Mrs. Crocker’s avatar spun itself into the room, smiling a smile that showed no teeth. “Well, Miss Maryam. On official House business?”

“Yes, although I cannot inform you of my intent.” Kanaya bowed her head apologetically. “If you would like, you could divest me of any conceivable weaponry.”

“No, I couldn’t.” Mrs. Crocker chortled. “Oh, you jades, always so funny! It’s almost as though you believe that we would see any troll as ever unarmed! How cute. Understand, though, that the two currently in residence are at approximately the physical strength of a cobalt troll. _Don’t_ think that you can overpower them, even with weapons. They’ll wipe the floor with you, dear.”

Kanaya suppressed a shiver of apprehension. “Of course not, Mrs. Crocker. Regardless, I will initiate no hostilities and have no desire to see such things ignited. This is a diplomatic mission, merely requesting allydom.”

“Well, go along then.” Mrs. Crocker flipped her hand, waving her onwards, and Kanaya started as the ship moved towards an open bay on Hellmurder. “I can’t ask for anyone to be there, you understand, with how unexpected your visit is, but I’ll direct you to where Jane and Paul are.”

“That is more than enough.” Kanaya smiled uncomfortably at the hologram.

“I hope all goes well, then,” Mrs. Crocker said. Her voice was neutral, alarmingly so, the way someone kept their tone when they were skeptical or suspicious and wanted the other to know so.

“I hope it does.” Kanaya bowed to the hologram as her ship coasted to a gentle stop in the open bay, the door lensing shut behind her. Mrs. Crocker winked out. Kanaya still took great care to appear open and unthreatening; she was no fool, nor naïve enough to believe that she was not watching.

Once pressure outside of the ship equalized with that within, Kanaya entered Hellmurder, unshielded and full of nerves.

Crocker had taken mere months in building the main core of Hellmurder Island. As a result, it was bleak and Spartan, bearing none of the architectural intricacies or beautiful mandala-frieze amalgams that decorated Colamér’s dwellings and habitats. The shining, angular metal interior of the bay made Kanaya incongruous, incompatible with the rest of the habitat in her scarlet dress and black tunic. She marched forwards, calling up the map of Hellmurder in her mind, Father and Jane Crocker clearly indicated.

The floor echoed her footsteps, which grew softer and softer as gravity lessened the further she went. Kanaya glanced about. The lighting was better than she could have hoped—dim and not as bright as any sighted House would have provided, but more than enough for a race of nocturnal beings like trolls. Crocker was considerate.

When the gravity was nearly non-existent, the hall opened into a hexagonal tube with slightly brighter lighting. Down to either side she could see places where the angles and sides rotated and openings leading into further hallways down the tube. The ship’s central transport system. Kanaya glanced at the map again, memorizing the place she would have to turn and to which opening, and kicked into the tube. Convenient bars and notches along the tube helped her maintain her speed and helped her stop to swing into the hall along her route and kicked through the air until the gravity pulled her down to the ground. She huffed with the exertion, breath clouding in front of her.

There were no vac-tubes in this segment of the ship, so she had a long haul ahead of her. Kanaya started walking again, hopping a little in the decreased gravity.

Her palmtop blinked lime green and a miniaturized version of Mrs. Crocker’s avatar appeared on her wrist, barely five inches tall. “Miss Maryam.”

“Yes?” An awful possibility occurred to her. “Am I going the wrong way?”

“No, no.” Mrs. Crocker shook her head, wringing her hands and shaking a little. “There’s a problem in the sector of the ship you’re headed for. I’ve lost contact with Paul and it just came to my attention that my sensors in that area went dark an hour ago.”

“You didn’t notice?”

“There were other things that demanded my attention, but now I find myself worried.” Mrs. Crocker clasped her hands in front of her face. “Paul—Paul isn’t responding when I hail him on his implants. There’s damage in the hull, but I’ve sent servitors and probes in and the pressure is normal. The power’s down, though, so it’s getting quite cold.”

“Do you have a thermal coat?” Kanaya asked. “I’ll check it out for you.”

“Oh! Thank you! I’d hoped you would say that. I don’t want to send Jane in.” Mrs. Crocker nodded decisively. “Turn left at the next corridor. It’ll take you to a supply room. There’s a wardrobe there and I believe one of the coats should be warm and fitting.”

“How does it look?” Kanaya asked.

“It’s dark blue and long.” Mrs. Crocker chuckled. “I believe you can bear the discomfort of a lack of fashion for safety from the cold.”

“Debatable.” Kanaya cautiously entered the old room Mrs. Crocker must have been speaking about. The wardrobe was just a sliding closet. Pushing it open revealed a rack of dusty coats. She spotted the cobalt-blue coat quickly and pulled it out. As she’d expected, it was ghastly against the bright scarlet of her ruffled skirt. She spotted a basket of gloves behind the coats, and snagged a pair of fluffy, thick mitts. “Where do I go?”

“Back down the corridor you were on earlier, turn left at the third door there.”

Kanaya edged back down with new wariness, peeking around the corner before she turned into the new route. “Mrs. Crocker, it occurs to me that I don’t have a weapon.”

“No, you don’t, do you?” Mrs. Crocker seemed to deliberate. “I don’t know what I can do about that. We have a few projectile weapons stashed here and there, but no melee and I know Maryams prefer melee. The main armory is in the middle of the dead zone, if you’re feeling so bold.”

“I’m not, but I may as well say that I am. I’m feeling brave today.”

“Then continue down the corridor until the shape of the doorways changes. Turn left there.”

The corridor turned right, dead-ending but for the side, where no lights remained on. It grew colder and colder as she walked, prompting a question: “How cold will it get? Regardless of how snug this coat is, I’m not certain I can cope with temperatures so close to vacuum.”

“No, you probably can’t, at that.” Mrs. Crocker’s image froze for a second, ghostly green in the abrupt darkness. Kanaya carefully avoided looking directly at her. “I’m trying to restore systems that will warm the place up. Keep going if you think you’re able, but don’t feel any particular need to make it all the way before I accomplish that.”

“Thank you.” The doorways, rectangular cookie-cutter shapes taken out of the walls, suddenly turned oblong with lensing doors and palm readers next to each. “Mrs. Crocker, I’m not meant to be in this area, am I?”

“No, dear. It’s a rather high-security area. Don’t worry, the palm readers are set so that you can activate them with via pressure in the event of a power failure. When I get the power back on, press your hand against a reader and I’ll give you access.”

Kanaya nodded. “This door is to the armory?”

“That door, yes.” Mrs. Crocker confirmed. “Go on in.”

Kanaya pushed the pad. The door opened, bladelike segments telescoping into each other. She stepped through. It was warmer on the other side of the door, though cooling rapidly. The room was full of armaments, most locked securely to the wall but a few accessible to a passerby. She scanned the room for something not a gun, eventually lighting on a series of hammers, clubs, and a few swords, probably stashed by Lalonde. She picked up a short spear with a long blade and hefted it. A little too heavy for her tastes, and with too small a cutting edge, but better than a gun. Or no weapon at all.

“I think I’m ready to go further,” she told Mrs. Crocker.

“Go back on out. He was in room 231 is a few doors down from here. I doubt he’s there. He’ll probably be closer to the center of the blackout.”

Kanaya nodded, remembering only at the last moment that Mrs. Crocker couldn’t see her. “We’re going to check there anyways, though?”

“We are.” Mrs. Crocker clucked her tongue. “Oh, would you believe that. Sorry, I’ll be gone a moment, my fool brother is trying to copy my source code. I need to see what he thinks he’s doing.” Her avatar winked out, leaving Kanaya with a pinkish afterimage.

_From the Light?_ Kanaya wondered. Too many things were happening all at once for Kanaya to keep track. Mrs. Crocker _had_ left her with the map, though, so she wasn’t lost. Kanaya spun the spear in her hand, following the route she’d been given. The air seemed to have reached a weird thermal equilibrium, so she was freezing but at least not getting colder. At least, she hoped so. The alternative was that she was so cold she no longer registered changes.

Room 231 was on her right. Kanaya poked the palm reader, once, twice, three times, dumbly waiting for it to have an effect. A few moments later, suspicious, she leaned down to examine a dark spot underneath the useless reader. The delicate mechanisms governing the actual reading of palms were no longer in place, but someone had clubbed through even the redundant pressure-based opener. The gash was about six centimeters long and three wide, with jagged edges and barely-visible shattered bits inside.

Kanaya stood up and took a more careful look around.

Now that she was watching, there were dark pits in multiple areas over the corridor, most of them small and round, like the type that would be produced by a slug-gun, intermixed with periodic long, thin gashes through the paint. She approached one of the gashes to study it, finding little dried residues around it. A little more searching confirmed that the residues were common to all of the thin slices.

So there had been a fight. One person with a gun and one with…what? A wet sword?

She was missing something, and there was no way she was getting through that door. Alternate measures were required. She checked the map again, tracing out an alternate route to get into the room that supposedly held Father Crocker. Hopefully, he’d managed to hide himself in there.

Or someone had trapped him in room 231 by breaking the panel and were blocking off the only alternative to get in, the one Kanaya was about to take. She readied the spear and started the trek.

Signs of the firefight faded a ways down, and the other door Kanaya had chosen worked. She opened it and advanced down, checking the map at each crossroads and corner. She turned into the spacious common room that would lead her directly into room 231 and stopped.

The door was broken beyond repair, enough so that she could conclude that Father Crocker was either not there or flat on the ground out of sight. There was some blood on the ground in the common room, dried already, and the damage to the walls had intensified, climbing to the ceiling. Kanaya counted the pits in the walls and shivered in apprehension. Pits far outnumbered cuts, unlike in the narrower hallway. The common room had given Father Crocker’s attacker more room to maneuver.

She made her way through the common room, stepping gingerly around each stain and cut to stop in front of the destroyed door. Kanaya hesitated just before going through. Where was Mrs. Crocker? Had she not solved the problem with Grandfather Crocker yet?

Kanaya would keep going. She stepped over the broken lens panels into room 231.

Father Crocker lay sprawled, face down, next to the door that had been rendered incapable of opening. His back and sides were coated in gashes. He did not look to be breathing.

Kanaya knelt next to him, aware of how her heartbeat was racing, and turned Father Crocker over. His face was cut through in three places, and blood stained and ran down his shirt. Kanaya’s stomach flopped.

“Mrs. Crocker,” she whispered into her palmtop. “Mrs. Crocker!”

The avatar flicked on. “I’m sorry, I’m having a bully of a time with Jonathan. Is something the matter? Did you find Paul?”

“Yes.” Kanaya swallowed. “He’s dead.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Crocker said. She hesitated for a long time. Her voice warbled when she spoke again. “How did he die?”

“There are cuts all over his face. Someone cornered him and cut him up.” She traced one of the gashes on his cheek. The skin around it was puffed up in a white, bloodless ring. A suspicion struck her and she rocked back onto her heels, unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing his sleeves up his arms. There were gashes along his wrists and hands—had he tried to catch their weapon? Would it really be a blade, then?

Kanaya pushed his left sleeve above his elbow, revealing diseased-looking bruise-dark streaks running up his arms.

“They had poison. It’s… it’s a necrotic poison, went after the skin along the cuts.”

“Miss Maryam, I think you had better leave,” Mrs. Crocker cautioned. “Please hurry back to this side of the ship. I’m sending Jane to meet you. Please be careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kanaya said. “Should I carry him back?”

Mrs. Crocker made a small, sad sound. “If you could.”

Kanaya bundled Father Crocker up in her arms and began the trek back around into the corridor main, shifting him as she walked. He weighed enough to make Kanaya’s muscles begin to burn halfway back to the base. He was warm enough that she couldn’t forget he had been breathing only a few hours ago.                             

 

Jane

She scratched the back of her hand.

Time seemed to pass no more quickly in a stasis cabinet than out of it. The bubble, the dilant; Jane found herself equally as bored. Like all of the boredom from if she’d taken the entire journey out of the cabinet, in real time, had been condensed and added to the dilant she dripped into her mouth. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

The cabinet pinged open. With a groan, Jane shoved her way out and to the bridge, eyeing the screen. She looked to have arrived at Maryam with no difficulty, but she had never really trusted the computers on that.

She hailed their base, simply stating name, affiliation, and a desire to speak with House Vantas. Most of them were away, unfortunately, but ultimately she’d be happy meeting with even the lowest member of their Line.

If Roxy or Dirk knew what she was doing, they’d blow a gasket. Jane winced. It wasn’t going to be fun explaining herself to them. But it wasn’t right, leaving this undone. Crocker had killed Vesuvius Vantas. They had a right to know what had happened, and, well, it wasn’t as if Crocker’s fortunes could get any worse. She wiped at her face.

Her computer crackled.

_“Hello, Miss Crocker. This is Karatous of Vantas line. It is an honor to have you here to speak with us. Please, dock your ship planetside. We will send you guidance down to the surface.”_

Jane tapped her finger on the dashboard pensively. Karatous certainly was a member of Vantas line. She had seen him before. But if she recalled correctly, he was also very… aggressive for someone from Vantas’ Unity batch. Very dismissive of herself and of Dad when they went to visit. If this were an ordinary mission, she’d hail back asking if she would be honored with any Maryams attending the meeting.

_I’m not caring about surviving though, am I?_

Jane smiled and took a breath. “Thank you for this opportunity, Linemember Vantas. I will meet you below! I thank you for your time.”

That said, she maneuvered her ship to the surface, following his detailed instructions. Jane quietly slipped a prim Colamér-antique dress on over her skinsuit. Jade and John might feel comfortable running around in their skinsuits, showing off every curve and line of their bodies, but. Well, Jake had understood. He’d frequently worn loose clothing over his skinsuit, as well.

Jane stepped into the cool damp of the Mother’s Brood Mountains. Karatous was, indeed, waiting for her, wearing the long, billowing robes of a Vantas Acolyte. She stepped down the stairs to curtsy to him, a gesture which he awkwardly returned with a bow.

Behind him lurked three more Vantases, short angular shapes next to the gracefully mantled silhouettes of Jades. From this distance, Jane couldn’t distinguish them as Maryam or unaffiliated Jade.

“Jane of House Crocker,” Karatous Vantas began imperiously, “It is my honor to welcome you to the planet Ijada. These five with me are Acolyte Vankre Vantas of Sufferance, Kankri Vantas of Unity, Karkat Vantas of Sufferance, Keleyi Varade, and Gachal Aglasz. I thank you for your visit.”

Two of Sufferance besides Karatous himself. Jane stifled a worried frown. “I thank you for your welcome on such short notice. My apologies.” She bowed. “Linemembers Vankre, Kankri, and Karkat, I thank you for your attendance. Exalts Varade and Aglasz, I thank you for your hospitality.”

Karatous held out his hand to take hers, leading her to a slope-roofed dwelling. “It was no trouble. What did you wish to discuss?”

“Many things,” she said politely. “If there is a place we may take seats or rest while we speak? I have had… many things to keep me from taking rest on my own.”

“There are many places.” Karatous smiled. “Follow me, please.”

The further they walked into the dwelling, the deeper Jane’s heart sank. Jade dwellings were notorious for their labyrinthine passageways and construction. It was a common joke that Jades never got lost because of all the training they’d had in their youth. Jane, on the other hand, got lost with frequency.

Varade and Aglasz walked on either side of the contingent’s tail, arms folded neatly behind their backs. The sashes tied around their waists were fringed. Jane worried. These two, then, were not other dignitaries who cared to speak with her but were bodyguards. She would bet her life they carried snug little pistols and khanjali under their cloaks.

Kankri darted ahead at the last minute and opened a door. Jane didn’t miss the split-second transformation of Karatous’ expression into one of irritation. Kankri had done something unexpected. How unlike what she had heard of the minor members of Unity branch.

The room Kankri ushered them into was narrow initially, opening into a smooth, bowl-shaped room with a couch in the shape of an unbroken circle, a rounded wooden table concentric within its enclosure. Vankre flopped unceremoniously over the edge and onto the couch, followed by an economical, least-effort hop and slide by Karkat.  Karatous somewhat huffily stepped over the edge to sit with his robes fanning out behind him like a pair of wings, Kankri slapping at Karkat to do the same.

Varade and Aglasz did not follow them into the room. Jane uncertainly (and without much dignity) slipped over the edge of the couch to cross her legs uncomfortably.

“Well.” Karatous held out his hands expansively. “What is it?”

Jane had been full of so many grand ideas, but now that she was actually at the point of speaking to them, she didn’t know what to say. Well. She hadn’t followed Dad along on all of his diplomatic missions for nothing! She sat up straight. “It is a matter of history, Acolyte Karatous. Specifically, the history of your Linefather.” _Careful, Crocker,_ she cautioned herself, _not too dramatic. You’re not telling your linesiblings a story!_

Karkat groaned and slumped back. The prim line of Kankri’s shoulders broke slightly. Vankre’s lips pressed together in a thin line.

How odd.

“And Colamér.” Jane considered what she was going to say next. “I… would like to apologize on behalf of Crocker, who… well, we were not, and are not, in the best situation to undertake proper measures of repentance.” There. That, at least, was an okay opener.

“You have mentioned recent troubles. To what do you allude?” Karatous asked warmly, which rankled Jane. She carefully pinched the cloth of her skirts and rubbed it between her fingers.

“Our linefather is dead.” The words tasted like ashes in her mouth. Poor Dad! She still didn’t know who had done him in, or what could have created such a mess with so little fuss.

Karkat jumped and Vankre’s mouth and forehead creased in what she hoped was sympathy. Kankri looked discomfited.

“That’s awful,” Karatous said gently. “I’m so sorry. Was… was it natural? I know many diseases have rocked your Line of late.”

“It was not natural.” Jane glanced down at her lap. “It is not clear what happened, but he was… was murdered, I’m afraid. We have no way of knowing who or how.”

Karatous’ lip twitched. “My deepest condolences.”

Jane was almost certain that he was completely okay with Dad having died. “I’m sorry for such a tangent, although it sets a certain mood. I will be blunt.” She interlaced her fingers over her left knee and leaned forwards slightly, back stiff. “Colamér was orchestrated by the late Joanna Crocker.”

Karatous’ eyes flew open from the mild, cool expression he’d been keeping, mirroring Vankre, whose lazy posture changed abruptly. All four now appeared alarmed. Not that Jane blamed them.

“My reaction upon learning of it was much the same as yours.” Jane continued. “It was… not a large secret to keep, unfortunately. Only four people knew of it, and all were Crocker.”

“Jacob Harley?” Kankri asked in a brittle tone. Jane bit her lip.

“Nee Jacob Crocker.” She waited for the obvious shock in their expressions to subside. “He was intended to work as a spy for Crocker, an operative who wouldn’t see combat. Jonathan Crocker was their only operative to that end, but for the Colamér… catastrophe. For an unknown reason, Joanna gave the order that no one on either the planet or the ship could be allowed to survive. Jacob Crocker obeyed. We still don’t know why the order was given, or why Jacob Crocker also felt the action necessary. From what we understand, he was given a certain amount of leeway with his missions.

“He has a long record of deeming missions unimportant or unnecessary, but not that one. Jonathan Crocker was much more closely watched.”

“Have you considered that maybe he was merely a bloodthirsty psychopath?” Karatous asked. “After all, he did quite unconcernedly move on after that.”

A deep pit opened in Jane’s stomach, providing a sink for all of her hopes for the meeting. “I don’t know. We do have records that he spoke with Linefather Vantas shortly before his death. Linefather Vantas did not die in the ship’s crash.”

“Small consolation,” Karatous said frostily. “But I suppose you think it merits some gratitude.”

“Not at all!” Jane chewed on her upper lip. “I simply thought it better for you to be aware of the truth.”

“Now we are aware of the truth.” Karatous smiled insincerely. “What did you expect us to do with it?”

“I did not expect you to do anything.”

“No. I cannot say I am surprised, though.” Karatous turned his head slightly away and winked one eye. “About Colamér. It is a family tradition of yours, isn’t it?”

“What?” This was getting frustrating. She felt like she couldn’t get a straight sentence out of him. “Pardon?”

“A family tradition of savagery.” Karatous clarified. “You did quite a bit of damage as Her Imperious Condescension’s puppets.”

_Aw, shit._

Karatous continued, heedless. “There was the time your grandmother destroyed a great portion of Cerasifor. Or when your dear Jonathan killed Linemother Leijon. Did they ever learn about that?”

Jane shook her head, alarmed. “Ah, no—I myself didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t.” Karatous cut her off. “The time when Her Imperious Condescension wouldn’t even condescend to fight a rustblooded psychic, and instead sent Jonathan and Joanna to do it, and they killed her without a second thought. I had always wondered why your family stayed behind instead of fleeing. You were staying to finish her work, weren’t you? Or take revenge?”

Her temper flared. This jackass. Jane had had about enough. She saw his chest expand with a breath.

“Three things!” she snapped, holding a hand up. “Three. First! We didn’t serve her voluntarily, you little turd. She kidnapped Jonathan and Joanna. Joanna was under her psychic control until Zhayd and Jacob broke it. Jonathan was raised from about five years old to be what he was. He didn’t even remember Colamér.”

“Because ‘he didn’t know any better’ is—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up and listen to someone not you for once in your life! Stars, you Vantases sure do talk!” she huffed and crossed her arms. “Two! We didn’t kill the rustblood! Damaqhua—she had a name, by the way—just kept attacking them, so they broke her legs, but they left her alive to leave!

“And three, you little _yinkon_ assmunch, we stayed here because when you fuckfaces attacked Her Mighty Bitchiness, it was the _perfect_ opportunity for Zhayd and Jacob to kidnap Joanna and Jonathan back! And then what did we want to do? _Completely avoid the fact that we were used as little human tools for several decades._ Do you blame us? You certainly didn’t volunteer that you were behind the rebellion!”

Karatous’ jaw dropped. “You knew we were—”

“Oh, it’s only fucking obvious!” she rolled her eyes theatrically. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to hide it from the other trolls. If you even have. Really? Really? Just. You just _happen_ to be redblooded mutants descended from a redblooded mutant with huge scars all up his arms who _just happens_ to be friends with the Summoner and the Dolorosa and the Psionic and the Disciple and all of those rebellion mooks! And you actually expected to be undercover?”

“We have to stay undercover!” Karatous flared. “We were under threat—”

“From who?!”

“The Makaras! The Pyropes! Anyone!” he snarled. “Don’t talk like you know anything, you stupid cow!”

“Oh, I _certainly_ don’t know about trying to protect my line! It’s not like I was taking care of my fucking catatonic brother for fifty years, or raising the other two! Or like I was going on diplomatic missions at _twenty._ Or _thirty._ No, that’s completely inconceivable!” Jane threw her hands up in the air and waved them around. “Bluh bluh, I’m just a stupid fat villain with no thoughts of my own!”

“Fuck you!” he hissed venomously. “You’re _nothing_!”

“And that’s not overdramatic _at all_.”

She had no warning, just Karatous’ robes fluttering up in the air before he vaulted the table and loomed close and his hands closed around her throat. Jane screeched and wrapped her fingers around his thumb over her windpipe and bent it back until it snapped and he recoiled. She had a moment or two to breath, but his forearm came down next over her neck again. Jane struggled upwards, but the most she could do was kick at his legs and claw her way slowly into a standing position, flinching at his claws and trying to avoid having her face torn open.

She couldn’t see any of the other three Vantases. She hoped they weren’t going to join Karatous. Trolls were ridiculously strong.

Karatous tried to shove her chin up to gain access to her jugular, so she bit him hard, sinking her teeth into his wrist, reaching down to punch at his gut. If only he had a groin like a human male had, she could cause him real pain—

A crash interrupted her thoughts. Karatous, distracted, turned away for just long enough that Jane could punch him in the jaw to send him reeling.

A whip lashed her across the cheek, tearing a deep gash. Jane hissed and clapped her hand over it. Vankre dove over the couch, out of the way of a troll, a tall female with curling Megido horns and narrowed, slanted eyes, claws honed to points. She wore black with no patches.

“Damaqhua?” she asked helplessly. The troll lunged.

Karkat somehow got himself in the way, babbling unintelligibly in what was either Maryam or Vantas, and was unceremoniously lifted by the collar of his cloak and thrown after Vankre, face a mask of shock, barely slowing her down. Jane nearly fell over getting out of her way, kicking at her hands. If she remembered correctly, Damaqhua liked lacing her whips with poisons, mild paralytics or convulsants, and sometimes graver substances still. Which meant that Jane probably had only a limited time to get herself out of this mess.

Karatous’ fingers tangled in her skirt, claws opening holes in the fabric and jerking her to a stop. Jane nearly screamed aloud in frustration. This absolute—

Kankri leaned over the couch to grab Karatous by the horn and pull him up. His hand went limp and disentangled from her skirt. Despite herself, Jane gaped. Horn touching was verboten, intimate, why—

Damaqhua’s whip cracked, cutting her arm and snapping over her elbow. Jane stomped her foot, still focused on Kankri, and wrapped the whip around her fist as a handhold to yank the woman towards her, hand already raised to dislocate her jaw. She tackled Damaqhua, feeling victorious when she went down like a sack of bricks.

Someone screamed behind her. Jane couldn’t spare the time or attention to look, sitting up straddling Damaqhua to punch her in the face.

“Move!”

She leaned backward in time to avoid Karkat’s sickle as it came down over Damaqhua’s throat. The edges lodged in the floor, effectively trapping her under the blade but not quite killing her. She had long arms, was already reaching up—

Jane punched the sickle’s top, breaking the blade and burying a massive segment in the troll woman’s throat. Blood spurted almost cartoonishly, splashing over Jane’s dress, undoubtedly staining it. She rose to her feet, gasping for breath. Stars—at least two of her fingers were broken.

Karkat was still kneeling by the body, looking thunderstruck. “Holy shit. What just—Kankri!”

“I’m fine,” Kankri said across the barrier of the couch. His expression could only be described as ‘crushed’, eyes wide and teary. “Karkat, I’m so—what will the Council say?”

It took Jane a few minutes to realize that he was referring to Karatous’ body.

He was laying arched, back broken, over the couch, eyes rolled back into his head. The bright red laces of his robes were wrapped tightly around his neck, abrasions visible where they had loosened.

“Kankri, did you…” Karkat’s mouth opened and closed. “Kankri, you forced his submission reflex. And killed him.”

“I know! I’m sorry! I don’t know! I couldn’t just let him kill someone, that’s not what we’re supposed to do and—” he burst into tears. Karkat stepped over the couch, knocking Karatous’ hand in the process, to hug Kankri.

“Oh Mother.” Vankre whimpered. “Oh Mother, we’re so dead. Kankri, why did you do that?!”

“He tried to kill me!” Jane snapped. “Thank you, Kankri!”

Karkat shot them both a dark look. “Well. Karatous broke the Unity pact of nonviolence, so Kankri was within his rights. Technically. I think the council will let it slide, Kankri.”

Jane stepped over Damaqhua’s body. “I hope so. Are you alright, Kankri?”

“I’m fine,” Kankri hiccupped. “I’m fine—Karkat, stop touching me! That’s inappropriate, and you know it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Karkat grumped. “Hey, Crocker. Do you want a big-ass trident to fork people in the ass with? You’re gonna need something to do that. I have no clue how the Council will react to you.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “That sounds lovely, Karkat.”

“You remember my name?” Karkat made a faux-impressed face. “So you were actually listening when Karatous gave his stupid opening speech?”

“Yes?”

“Oh Mother. Holy shit. Kankri. I just realized. We’re free. The stupid windbag won’t be giving speeches at the reunions anymore.” Karkat gave a sort of hysterical chuckle. “Fucking hell.”

“That’s awful, Karkat!” Vankre climbed over the edge of the couch. “Karatous was our _brother!_ Can’t you feel bad about that? And why are you talking to her? She as good as admitted she was involved in—in Colamér!”

“I—shut up!” Karkat growled. “Look, Karatous was out of line, and Jane Crocker did nothing wrong. Silver lining. And we still need to deal with this fucker.”

“Damaqhua?” Jane asked, accepting Karkat’s offered trident. “I’m sorry about this. It’s not right.” Jane fruitlessly tried to pull the remnants of Karkat’s sickle from the floor. “I’m sorry for breaking your sickle.”

“It’s not a problem. I have another damn sickle. That doesn’t solve our _real_ problem. Why did she attack us?”

“I don’t know, but Kanaya said something about a troll with a whip killing Dad—and poison on the whip.”

“Damaqhua couldn’t have killed Father Crocker,” Kankri said. His face had twisted into a sharp expression of revulsion. “She wouldn’t have. How would she even get here so fast? He’s strong, right? She’s almost certainly injured from that fight.”

“I don’t know.” Karkat massaged the bridge of his nose. “We should talk to Kanaya, I think. And get Jane and get everything out to someone who won’t try to strangle her.”

Jane smiled at both of them, craning her neck a little down, strained from the stress of adrenaline. “Please.”

 

 


End file.
